


first, do no harm

by Kitty Eden (TheBigCat)



Series: unfold your own myth [2]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Adults Also Being Horrible, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Animal Death, Broken Bones, Cameo characters will be/are expanded on later in the series, Children Being Horrible, Cross-Generational Friendship, Curses, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Harm to Children, Misplaced Guilt, chocolate cake, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24403765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBigCat/pseuds/Kitty%20Eden
Summary: Wanting to help someone has never been so dangerous.Or, Thomas Hector Schofield is pretty sure that he’s miserable, and absolutely certain that he’s cursed. He’s handling it as well as he can, considering.
Relationships: Thomas "Hex" Schofield & Evelyn Smythe
Series: unfold your own myth [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746379
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	first, do no harm

**Author's Note:**

> [(x)](https://therogueofblood.tumblr.com/post/619261431618093056/first-do-no-harm-thebigcat-doctor-who)

The first proper indication that something’s wrong is when he’s eight. Little Tommy Schofield comes into the kitchen to see that Gran’s crumpled awkwardly on the ground, unmoving – a shattered dish of casserole splattered all around the kitchen floor, and thick dark liquid oozing from a cut in her head where she’s slammed it against a cupboard.

Tommy’s distraught, even if he doesn’t really know what’s going on, and he rushes to her immediately, trying to get her attention. Her eyes remain closed. Her skin is pale and ashen and her hands are cold when he tries to squeeze them with his too-small fingers. There is some cold sort of dread creeping over him, and he doesn’t know what to do except beg her desperately to wake up. He tells her that he’ll do anything, even eat her yucky chicken soup and clean his room all by himself and without prompting if she just opens her eyes and stop lying there, _he wants her to wake up –_

And then she does. She sits up slowly – perfectly fine, if a bit puzzled – and hugs her bawling grandson, shushing him. The bleeding’s stopped, and the dizziness is already fading. It seems that the only casualty of this brief slip of her foot while getting down from a stepping stool had been her casserole. And it doesn’t take long for Tommy to calm down and (mostly) forget about the incident – although he does cling to for the rest of the day and quite some time beyond that.

Hilda Schofield will learn, later, that Claire Summerfield from down the road had suffered a fatal, thankfully painless, stroke at the exact moment that her eyes had opened. She will feel a sudden jolt of horrible unease for a second, before dismissing it as a coincidence.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t end there. Curses like this aren’t a one-time sort of thing, after all.

When Damian Boyd breaks his arm falling off the swing on the playground, they’re both in the fifth grade. Damian can barely hear it over the pain and his own yelling, but Tommy is saying, “What can I do to help? Can I fix it? I want to fix it!”

And the moment he says it, the pain stops abruptly and Damian’s arm isn’t broken anymore but it’s at a strange, slightly crooked angle and there is a yell from across the playground as the seventh-grade history teacher’s leg contorts and contracts hideously.

In the confusion and chaos that follows, nobody really connects the dots between Tommy Schofield’s innocent, panicked babbling and the fact that Mr Matthews and a nine-year-old student have to be rushed off to thee emergency room as the result of what looks like an unprovoked, wild fairy curse. Nobody except the nine-year-old in question, who’d _felt_ his bones knit back together wrong, and had seen the spark of golden light in Tommy Schofield’s eyes as it had happened.

After the bone has been re-broken and reset into place, Damian Boyd tells his parents exactly what had happened, and they mutter angrily amongst themselves and to their friends, and in a small town like Little Caldwell, news spreads fast so it’s not long before all the kids in town are eyeing Tommy Schofield nervously, and Tommy has no idea why.

Well, no – Tommy does have _some_ idea why, because Damian’s arm had straightened and twisted right at the moment he’d thought super hard about fixing it and said he wanted to do it, out loud, and that _can’t_ be a coincidence.

And then nobody can stop staring at him and Damian and his family have moved away, and his teacher pulls him to the side at one point to tell him that he might want to talk to his guardian about switching schools. When he tells Gran that she gets really angry (but not angry enough to go and yell at the teacher about it), and long story short he just doesn’t attend school anymore. Simple as that. Gran keeps him at home and teaches him everything he needs to know, from Maths to History to English, and he helps her pick the fruit from the orchard out back and make it into jam to take to the market on Saturdays. On Sundays, they go to church and Gran glares so hard at everyone else that they leave him alone, but he can still feel their eyes on him.

Gran refuses to leave Little Caldwell, and Tommy has a feeling that she’s never going to, no matter how bad it gets. According to her, their family have been living in Little Caldwell for generations upon generations and breaking the tradition of several lifetimes is flat-out nonsense.

“If they have a problem,” she says, on many occasions, “ _they_ can leave town.”

They never do, and so the angry standoff continues as it always does, which Tommy thinks is kind of stupid but he’s not going to be the one to tell Gran that. Even if he really honestly would like to leave, and find some other place where other kids don’t mind talking to him. As it is, he spends a considerable amount of time in the park, swinging aimlessly back and forth on the swingset and digging around in the sand – and quite a lot of time at the local library, looking for ways to fix himself.

There are a lot of books on how to keep magic away and how to kill fairies and undo small curses like bad-luck sigils and trip jinxes, but nothing about how to get rid of _really_ big curses like his. He wears iron right up to his skin for weeks but it doesn’t do anything, not even sting a bit.

When he starts asking Gran detailed questions about curses and magic she gets a really sad look on her face, like she’s in pain somehow, and he’s about to ask if he can help with whatever pain it is before he manages to stop himself. She tells him no, she doesn’t know anything about curses, but if he wants he can go talk to Ms Smythe on the edge of town because she might have an idea or two, and if he does he might as well bring her some apples because she deserves it for putting up with all of them.

Tommy isn’t really sure what this means, but obligingly loads up a basket with Red Princes, which are the sweetest type they have, and goes off down the street and past the town centre with Ms Smythe’s house, following Gran’s directions. He kind of knows Ms Smythe from church, but he also knows she stopped going ages ago and nobody talks about it.

Her house is smaller than his but it has a proper porch with wooden decking and everything, which his doesn’t. There’s a horseshoe hanging over the door and an overgrown messy garden filled with flowers that are spilling into each other because nobody’s taking care of them, and there’s bottles hanging from the gutter with colorful rocks and crystals inside.

When he knocks on the door, it takes her less than a minute to open in. She’s old, older than his Gran, and her hair is grey but her eyes are bright and sharp and kind. She’s got a big red soft-looking cardigan on and a sensible skirt and when she sees him she looks puzzled for a brief second before she says, “You must be Tommy. What on Earth are you doing here?”

“Hi,” he says. “I’m here for – ” He takes the lid off the basket so she can see. “ – I brought apples? Gran said to bring you apples. And also I wanted to ask you about curses.”

“Oh!” she says, a look of momentary surprise crossing her face. “Well, then. You’d better come in.”

So he does. And, as she explains as she shuts the door behind them, Ms Smythe isn’t actually Ms Smythe, she’s a Doctor. And she says that’s too pretentious a title for a ten-year-old to be calling her by all the time, and he can call her Evelyn if he wants, so he does.

Evelyn’s house has a _lot_ of books, stacked on ground and lining shelves and piled up the staircase, basically anywhere there’s room for them. They’re on all sorts of topics that Tommy doesn’t understand, like neuroscience and horticulture and trauma psychology, but there’s also a lot of history books on a lot of different eras that he sort of understands. Honestly, it’s a bit of a mess, like his room when he’s not being careful to keep it clean. He kind of likes it, though. It’s the kind of messy that has a kind of purpose to it, like Evelyn would be able to find anything she needs in the mess as long as she knows what she’s looking for.

“Do you like history?” he says, looking up as they pass the staircase with all the books on it with names like _The Wives Of King Henry VIII_ and _England Under The Tudors._

“Very much. I used to be a history lecturer, actually,” she tells him, a fond sort of smile crossing her face. “Sheffield Hallam University, back in the nineteen-fourties. Oh, those were the days...”

She leads him through into the kitchen, which is pretty clean but also there’s a lot of tins and jars and pots and pans on the walls and shelves and everywhere, like she uses it a lot. She nudges out a chair for him to sit in while she puts the apples away and pulls out a plastic container from the fridge that’s full of delicious-looking chocolate cake.

“Did you want milk?” she says, looking a bit distracted.

Tommy wants to know about curses. But milk sounds pretty good too. He nods and waits as patiently as he can for her to come over with two slices of cake and a glass of milk for him, and his leg only bounces up-and-down a little bit while he’s waiting.

“Curses,” she says, and sighs. “Good lord. The things they’re teaching you these days in school... or rather, the things they _aren’t_ teaching you. It used to be a common part of the curriculum, you know.”

“Curriculum?” says Tommy, not really wanting to tell her that he hasn’t been going to school for years now and if he’s missing out on anything it’s probably Gran’s fault. Not that she’s done anything wrong. She just really doesn’t want to talk about curses or magic or anything for some reason.

“Things they’re supposed to teach you,” Evelyn says, and shakes her head. “ _Curses._ I suppose I’m the best person to ask, considering. Did you say Hilda sent you?”

He nods and she goes _hm_ and while she’s lost in thought he goes ahead and tries some of the chocolate cake, which is really excellent and distracts him for a good few seconds, until she says, “I’m not sure quite how much help I’ll be able to be – I’m no witch, and all my magical experience is a bit, ah, scattered. To say the least. But feel free to ask me anything.”

“Cool,” says Tommy. “Um. So. First things first and all – I’m cursed.”

“I see,” says Evelyn in a neutral sort of way. She looks kind of sad though, but quietly. Like she’s trying to hide it.

“Yeah,” he says, and tries to smile. He’d like to think he’s gotten used to it, but it’s kind of miserable having people look at him like he’s going to heal them wrong or kill them by accident or something, so the smile comes out forced and sour. “I think I was born with it, but, you know. Yeah. Um. So, the curse – it lets me heal people. Like, proper heal, if I do it right. I can res – resser – bring people back to life.”

“Resurrect,” Evelyn says in a kind of absentminded teacher voice. She does kind of seem like a teacher sort of person, really. It makes sense that she used to teach history. “That’s a very useful sort of curse.”

“Not really,” he says gloomily. “Whenever I – you know. Do the thing, whatever it is, it – I end up hurting other people.” He kind of can’t believe that she doesn’t know about _him_ and everything by now, hasn’t she lived in this town basically forever? “You... you know about Mrs Summerfield, right?”

“ _Ah,_ ” she says, in a connecting-the-dots sort of tone of voice. “Ah, I _see.”_

“Yeah. So,” he says, and stares out of the window so he doesn’t have to look her in the eyes. “I un-break someone’s arm and somebody else’s arm gets snapped. And it’s... it’s not like – sometimes I don’t even know I’m doing it. Until it happens. I just _say_ something, and the curse thinks I want to heal someone and it happens! One time,” he adds, and bunches up the hem of his shirt in one hand, “this one time I found a dead rabbit out near the orchard. I _think_ it was dead, anyway. Its face was all messed up and there was blood everywhere and it was _terrible_ – I think some sorta wild animal had gotten to it in the night.”

“That’s awful,” Evelyn says, not in a scandalized or horrified sort of way; just in a way that makes it pretty clear that she means it and she’s on his level.

He swallows. “And. Well. I didn’t want it to be dead, so I told it that, and...”

“And it wasn’t anymore,” Evelyn says after a long moment where he doesn’t know how to continue, and she sighs, adjusting her spectacles with a pinch to the bridge her nose. “Of course.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, and keeps on avoiding eye contact. “I... I guess I thought it was a good thing at the time? I mean, I didn’t _really_ know it was me who brought it back, but – but, now, I’m thinking.”

Evelyn doesn’t say anything or interrupt. He knows she’s just giving him room to talk, but he kind of wishes she’d say something. Break the silence. He doesn’t really know quite where he’s going with this.

“What if I,” he starts, and stops, and then starts again. “What if I hurt someone, by fixing that rabbit? Or what if I _killed_ someone, just like I killed Mrs Summerfield, and I – I just never knew. For a stupid _rabbit._ ”

“I need you to stop,” Evelyn says firmly but not unkindly, and pushes her untouched plate at him. “And have some more chocolate cake while I think.”

Tommy stops, on the verge of tears, to stare at her incredulously, but she does seem entirely serious about him having more cake, so he takes his fork and cuts off some from the corner of the new slice.

...It’s _really_ good cake.

“First of all,” says Evelyn after a few minutes. “I need you to know that nothing that has happened as a result of your affliction is your fault. _None_ of it.”

“But –” Tommy begins to object, but Evelyn just shakes her head.

“You didn’t ask to receive this ability. And even if you had, you’re far, _far_ too young to be expected to control it properly. It’s not your fault. Not Mrs Summerfield, not the rabbit, not anyone or anything that you’ve caused the pain or death of. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” says Tommy, but he doesn’t really mean it and he thinks she can tell that. After a moment, she keeps talking anyway.

“Second of all, you wouldn’t have killed anyone by resurrecting a wayward rabbit. Curses like this function off equivalent exchange,” she tells him, and then, at his look of puzzlement, “a sort of... trade-off. Like at the market. You wouldn’t trade a few apples for an entire cow, would you?”

“No,” he says. He sort of understands what she’s saying, and it makes him feel... a lot better, really.

“Saving one rabbit wouldn’t be enough for nature to decide that a human being has to die,” she explains, sitting back. “Most likely you ended up exchanging its life for some other hapless rabbit’s.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” Tommy says.

“No,” says Evelyn. “But rabbits die all the time. It’s sad, but it’s just how nature works. And,” she adds, “even if it _had_ been more than a rabbit – it still wouldn’t have been your fault. You didn’t go into that situation thinking ‘I want to harm another living being today’, did you?”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone!”

“And if you did,” says Evelyn, “ _then_ I’d be concerned. But you don’t, and you’re not a bad person, and anyone who tells you otherwise doesn’t deserve your attention.”

“All right,” says Tommy, and finishes the last of Evelyn’s slice of chocolate cake. This takes him a few minutes, and when he’s done, he looks up at her and asks, “How do I get rid of it?”

“Your curse?” At his nod, she lets out the biggest sigh she’s let out all day, and she seems to sink down in her chair just a little bit, before she pushes herself up so she’s sitting straight and proud and tall again. “Oh, Tommy, I’m so sorry, but – I’m afraid the short answer is you _can’t._ ”

“Oh,” he says quietly.

“There are quite a few kinds of curses in this world,” Evelyn says, tracing patterns on the tabletop with her index fingers – wide, sweeping curves; spiralling circular swipes. “There’s the simple, mostly-harmless ones that you use to pester your friends and make them laugh, and get back at schoolyard bullies. They don’t last more than a day or a week. They’ll undo your shoelaces no matter how many times you try to retie them and give you a bad hair day or two, but they’ll never really harm you.” Her lips go thin and unhappy. “Then there’s the long-term ones that you save for the people that you really don’t like. To take them out of commission, to keep them from getting the things they want, to hurt them and the people around them. They’ll take forever and a day to unravel, but it is – _technically_ – possible to do it, or so I’ve heard. If you satisfy the right conditions and play your cards right. And _then._ ” Her finger draws to a halt, pointing lightly at him. “And then,” she says, “there are the ones that you’re born with. And those curses are so deeply engrained into who you are and how you’re formed that they never really ever go away.”

“But _why?_ ” Tommy says, frustrated and now more than a bit angry. “Why me? I didn’t ask to be cursed! If I didn’t ask for it, I should be able to get rid of it?”

Evelyn gets a really distant expression on her face, like she’s remembering something terrible happening, and then she shakes her head and tells him that sometimes the world’s just incredibly, indescribably unfair, and trying to ascribe logic to it is a fantastic way to inadvertently drive yourself off the deep end. He doesn’t understand all of the words, but he does get the general sort of idea.

He wants to ask more, but Evelyn is standing up and heading over to the cupboard for a plate and a knife, and that seems to be the end of that conversation. She takes out some of the apples he’d brought over for her, and cuts them up really thin before getting out a jar of chocolate spread and letting him slather on big chunks of it. It tastes good – not as good as the chocolate cake, but he likes the flavor.

She waves him off as the sun’s beginning to set with a container full of chocolate cake for him and Gran, and an open invitation to come back to her house any time he wants – if he has more questions, or wants some cake, or is just in need of some company.

And he does, many times. Evelyn’s house and kitchen become as familiar to him as his own house and bedroom. She’s kind and clever and sharp and has an endless supply of stories about her best friend and her getting into mischief when they were both younger. She shows him how to make cake and lends him the old guitar she’s got lying around in the living room, and helps him to put together charms to keep the fae folk from wreaking havoc on his house – although, according to her, he most likely doesn’t need to, because apparently ‘the curse is probably enough’, whatever that means.

And when he stops going by ‘Tommy’ and starts using his middle name, she’s the first to get it right. Well, it’s not like there’s many people around to call him by the right name, and it’s not like Gran’s going to switch over, so it’s more like she’s the only one. ‘Hex’ is an appropriate sort of name for someone who’s cursed, and he also really likes the sound of it. It’s kind of trendy. He can easily imagine it being the name of a cool kid who’s the most popular one in a group of friends.

When he gets friends, he decides, he’s going to ask them to call him Hex.

*

When he’s fourteen, Hex begs Gran to let him go back to school, and he doesn’t entirely know why. It takes several weeks and a lot of promises and lectures, but she does agree, eventually.

He’s halfway hoping everyone will have forgotten about him and the whole curse thing by now, but of course that’s not the case. The whispering and fearful looks haven’t stopped. Everyone just thinks that they’re being a lot more subtle about it.

It’s not like actual bullying, not really, because nobody’s _mean_ to him or shoves him or tries to fight him or anything. It’s just that nobody really seems to want to interact with him at all – apparently they’re afraid that he’s going to hurt them, even though he couldn’t hurt a specific person if he _wanted_ to, and besides, he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to hurt _anyone._ Not anyone in town, not the fairies in Lungbarrow Forest, not any insect or bird or cat or any other animal – _nothing._

Even thinking about it makes Hex feel vaguely sick, but it’s not like he can tell any of them that. It’s not like they’d listen. It’s not like they care what he has to say. Only that he’s the sort of person that needs to be avoided.

At least he’s not like the girl with bright ginger hair who he finds crying alone in the hallway a few months after coming back to school.

Hex recognizes her, the changeling girl that everyone hates just because she’s a fairy and because she killed her sister or something like that. It’s hard to miss rumours like that in a town this size, especially when you’re the target of a lot of them. He thinks she’s in his grade, but he doesn’t really _know_ anyone at this school – anyone in the town, really. They all mostly avoid him. Probably fair, but it still hurts.

He’s also pretty sure that the whole sister thing isn’t her fault, just from instinct and also all of that first-hand experience about fairies and curses and getting blamed for things that aren’t really your fault. But asking about the details would probably be really rude and weird, so he doesn’t do that.

The point is, he sees this girl and sees the bruises on her arms, and thinks, _yeah, I feel you,_ and immediately wants to try to help her. But he can’t, because he knows that if he tells her he wants to help, the bruises will only appear on someone else, spreading across their skin like splattered paint, and there’s no guarantee that he’ll be able to get rid of her bruises properly anyway.

Instead, he asks if she’s all right. Asks if she wants to talk, because it’s not as if he’ll be able to hurt her or anyone else if she just talks _at_ him, but all she does is smile and tell him everything’s perfectly fine as if there aren’t tears drying on her cheeks. It’s pretty clear that she doesn’t want anything to do with him.

Hex wonders for the first time if his curse would let him do anything about people feeling sad. Could he suck the sadness out of one person and force it into someone else? If he could, it’s not like he’d have any control over who it’d end up in, and he’s not sure if that makes it better or worse.

He’s not enough of an idiot to try it, though. And definitely not on her. He’d decided a long time ago that he’d never use the curse if he could help it, and this is definitely one of those sorts of situations where he’d do best to leave well enough alone. So Hex makes an awkward retreat and does just that, and tries not to think about the fact that he _could’ve_ done something but didn’t because he just can’t control his stupid magic ability.

Instead, he goes to the library, where he tends to spend most of his time. And recently, he’s been getting really into books about biology. He sits at a spare table amongst the rows of books at lunchtime and any other moments that he can get in spare, tracing out skeleton diagrams with his fingertips and mouths the names of the bones under his breath in an attempt to memorize every detail. _Humerus, ulna, radius._ And then there’s the muscles and the tendons, and every other complicated bit that keeps the human body functioning, and it’s all so much to learn but he keeps reading and trying to memorize it anyway because it’s weirdly fascinating to him. But also because if he knows more about how people work and how to fix them the proper way, he won’t ever need to use his curse, not even if something really terrible happens.

When he tells Evelyn about this, she says it’s a remarkably clever and kind thing for him to do, and if he needs more books, she may have a few more he can borrow. And he would like those books, thank you very much, so she helps him bundle five or six chunky textbooks together with a few long scraps of fabric and he heads on home to pore over them endlessly. And when he runs out of those books, she lends him more, and when she doesn’t have any more, she calls up some old friends and colleagues and within a few weeks he’s got enough books on bones and bodies and medicine that he’ll probably still be working his way through them by the time he’s twenty-five.

He doesn’t mind though, because it’s exactly what he’d been looking for. And so between school and the market and everything else, he loses himself in the depth of it all.

*

The chemistry block at the centre of the school is still under repair, even months after The Incident, which means that everyone has to take the long way around to get to their classes. Nobody is happy about this for a lot of reasons, but one of them is this: the ‘long way around’ has a section that squeezes everyone into a narrow bottleneck of an alleyway that’s barely wide enough to fit two people side-by-side.

It means a lot of bumping into people, and a lot of getting squished against the walls, and a lot of hurried moving-away-from-Hex-as-quickly-as-humanly-possible as soon as people realize that the cursed kid is there.

Which means that sometimes he ends up getting shoved to the ground by accident, and left to try to struggle to his feet as everyone pushes onwards towards whatever class they have, only just barely bothering to step over him.

Most of the time he just waits for the crowd to thin out before getting up and heading to class (and enduring the usual ‘late again, Mister Schofield’, which is... annoying but tolerable). Most of the time – and this is a pretty big ‘most of the time’ – nobody bothers to stop and ask how he is.

Today, however, the usual formula gets switched up a bit.

“You good down there?”

It’s an older girl. Year Eleven, maybe. He’s seen her around before – her and her hoop earrings and that strange grey-eyed classmate of hers that always seems to emanate a distinct feeling of _doom._ He’s here now, hanging back as she comes forward to... make sure he’s all right, or something? Weird. They’ve got the same dark hair and the same way of holding themselves. Kind of careless but also very wary at the same time. They could be siblings.

“I’m fine,” says Hex, and lets her help him up despite her friend’s general vibe making him feel like he should run a million miles in the other direction. He’s not even _doing_ anything. Just standing there. “Thanks, though. Stupid detour.”

“I _know,_ ” she commiserates. “What kind of idiot goes and leaves an open flame unattended in a _chemistry lab –_ anyway.” She leans forwards, and cheerfully yet decisively brushes some dust off the fabric of his jumper sleeve. And then she squints slightly. Considering. Trying to place him. “Do I know you?”

Hex’s heart leaps in a sudden, panicked jolt.

“I mean – I’m only in year seven,” he says hurriedly. “I don’t know why you _would._ ”

“Oh, right!” She snaps her fingers. Another jolt of fear rushes through, him but it instantly vanishes when she says, “You’re that kid that eats lunch alone all of the time. I’ve seen you in the library.”

He thinks that the feeling of not being recognized as _the cursed kid_ may just be the best thing he’s felt in his life.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, that’s me. The loner library kid. Hi,” he adds, just to see what it feels like, “I’m Hex.”

“Bernice,” she says. “My friends call me Benny.”

He’s not sure if this is an invitation to call her that, or just a simple statement of fact, so he just settles for bobbing his head and saying, “Hi,” again. Needless to say, he’s not very good at talking to people his age. Benny starts walking through the bottleneck alleyway, and her friend follows her, and since he’s heading the same way there’s nothing he can really do except follow them as well.

“Any particular reason you don’t seem to have any friends?” Benny asks him lightly. He’s pretty sure she’s just doing it to make conversation, but it’s really actually quite nice for someone who’s not Evelyn to show any sort of concern.

“Well, the thing is, I’m cursed,” he says.

“Cursed to eat alone?” says Benny’s friend. His voice is a low and smooth, and so very sardonic. Hex actually has to take a moment to match it.

“Yes, obviously,” he deadpans. “The fairies thought I was getting a smidge too outgoing, so my social life had to go.”

Benny laughs and her friend smiles slightly, and Hex thinks, _hell yes, maybe talking to people isn’t so bad._

“Well, if you ever feel like breaking the curse, feel free to come and sit with us,” says Benny as they reach the end of the alleyway. “We don’t have much of a social life, either.” She glances over at her friend. “Is it Psychology that we’re-?”

“It is,” her friend confirms. “Five minutes ago. You know I don’t care about being late, one way or the other, but if you feel the need to hurry...”

She pulls a face. “Not particularly. Let’s meander.” She glances back over at Hex. “Seriously, offer’s there if you want it! Far side of the cafeteria, follow the sounds of loud, highly specific history debate. You can’t miss us.”

“I’ll think about it,” he says with a grin, and watches them go. And... he’s actually considering it. Benny seems nice, really nice, and the sense of _doom_ emanating from her friend is... tolerable, maybe? There’s worse things he could be dealing with. He wouldn’t mind talking with Benny some more, actually.

And then her friend looks back at him. Benny doesn’t see this – she’s a few steps ahead of him and talking animatedly about something that he can’t make out – but his eyes fix directly on Hex’s, and he feels a sudden shudder of intense, horrible primal fear that worms its way all through his body and just about freezes his heart. He feels like meat. Like he’s suddenly realized there’s a vicious predator hunting him and he’s all too soft and squishy and vulnerable and there’s nothing he can do about it except wait for the predator to leave.

The older boy seems to see and understand his reaction perfectly, and the side of his mouth curls upwards in a tiny, horrible grin, and then he’s turning away and he and Benny disappear around a corner. And they’re gone, leaving Hex leaning against the closest wall to prevent himself from falling over where he stands.

“Oh my god,” he mutters to himself, trying not to have a panic attack.

It’s a warning. He doesn’t know _why_ (although he can hazard a rough guess) _,_ but Benny’s friend wants him to stay far, far away from her, apparently on pain of a gruesome and horrible death. And he has every intention of doing so, because that guy _terrifies_ him.

....He just wants a normal life. He wants normal friends, and wants to be able to go and kick around a football in the park like a normal person, but since when has anything ever been fair? No, this seems about right. It might as well be that the first potential friend he’s ever had the opportunity to make has a terrifying demon for a best friend who wants nothing to do with him.

He’ll just have to try harder.

Hex pats his bag to make sure his latest medical textbook is there, swallows, and hurries off to class, already trying to forget about it all.


End file.
